The crowd swarmed around Bowen, who paced back and forth, yelling, on a long flat wagon in the center of the village. Lana and Silas pushed their way into the back of the crowd.
"What can we do?" a man in the front yelled.
"Pick a side," Bowen shouted back at the man. Boos and cheers rose up all around them.
"We can no longer remain neutral," Bowen insisted. He was four years older than Lana, and now, standing tall and sturdy, he finally seemed it. He still wore the thick leather apron he worked in, his sleeves short and rolled up to his shoulders. Well defined muscles rippled under sun-darkened skin as he raised his fist in the air.
Half the crowd roared, cheering in agreement. The other half shouted in constant protest.
"What other choice do we have? Are you prepared for battle?" Bowen raised a bloody sword. "To live in fear of constant attacks?" A ring was on his finger. They had made him an elder.
Lana turned away. They would never be friends like they had been before, and her heart ached for the boy who would have stood beside her. She didn’t know this man.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish